Available

by Matteson Perry

  The night ended with a friendly hug and I went home alone, but I knew I no longer wanted to date someone like Lau. I wanted to date Lau herself. Not casually or just for sex. I wanted to date her for real, to be her boyfriend. I didn’t know if the feelings were mutual, but I wanted to find out, which meant breaking it off with Cassidy.

  Trying to let her down easy, I lied and told Cassidy I wasn’t looking for anything serious. As I suspected, she was only interested in a relationship. We agreed to part ways, but a week later, I got an email from her. She’d changed her mind. Cassidy said she’d enjoyed our sexual chemistry and felt maybe it was time to change the way she dated. A casual, sexual relationship with me interested her and she went into some pretty exciting detail about what that could entail.

  The email was tangible proof of my dating and sexual prowess, the exact sort of validation I’d wanted when I’d started my dating experiment. But, despite it being one of the most flattering emails I’d ever received, I didn’t take Cassidy up on her offer. Though I wasn’t dating Lau, I didn’t want to sleep with anyone but her. And so I did something I couldn’t have imagined doing a year and a half earlier—I turned down sex. And I did it for a woman who might not even like me.

  Finding out if Lau was interested in me would be tricky. Evan would be understandably sensitive about two of his friends seeing each other. It could ruin our friendship. Bros’ Brunch seemed like an institution, something that was eternal, like the IRS or Tom Cruise, but this could bring it to an end if not handled well.

  27

  * * *

  CASUAL DATING: WHAT’S THAT?

  In the time since I’d taken Lau to the concert, Evan had made a few passive-aggressive comments, things like Are there membership cards for the Best Friends Concert Club or When is Lau officially taking my place in Bros’ Brunch? One night while we were watching basketball at my house, Evan asked me about it directly. Or as directly as Evan could manage.

  “I would hope that if, like, two of my friends were dating, they would let me know.”

  “I assume you’re talking about Lau and me?”

  “Well, I’m talking about any of my friends, but yeah, that includes you and Lau. Obviously, I don’t own her or you, and you can do what you want, but I hope you won’t keep anything from me.”

  His feelings were totally natural—he didn’t want two close friends doing things behind his back. I told him I did have a crush on Lau, but nothing had happened and I didn’t know if anything ever would. I promised to keep him in the loop as things progressed. He thanked me and relaxed a little, though I could tell this wouldn’t be our last conversation on the matter. Ironically, Evan’s concern about us liking each other led to a confirmation that we did. The next morning I had an email from Lau:

  Evan told me you two talked. Maybe I shouldn’t have told him I have a crush on you. For what it’s worth, I am thankful it’s made me snap out of my shit with my ex a bit and it reminds me that there are a lot of great people out there. Please don’t be weird with me. We can be friends. I can keep my crush under control. You won’t even notice. Friends?

  I wrote her back, thanking her for being honest, and confirmed my crush on her. We agreed to stay friends, at least for now. But it’s hard for people to act normal when they know they like each other. In my effort to make it seem like I didn’t like her I stopped just short of acting like an elementary school boy who’s been asked if he has a girlfriend. NOOOO! I DON’T LIKE ANYONE. SHUT UP! GIRLS ARE GROSS!

  For example, one hot day, Evan and I went to Lau’s condo complex to use the pool. Shortly after arriving I asked Evan to apply the sunscreen to my back.

  “Uh, I’m sure Lau can do that for you,” Evan said.

  There is an unwritten dude rule about the order in which you request help with sunscreen. First, you ask a female. If one is unavailable, you squirt the lotion on a tree and rub your back against it. If both those fail, you may ask a male friend. In an attempt to act “normal” I was going too far in the other direction.

  Lau and I spent two months swapping long emails in which we discussed everything except how we felt about each other. Two months of longing but fleeting eye contact across a table during group dinners. Two months of hugs that lingered a beat longer than they did with anyone else. The only thing that came close to a conversation about being romantic came one night at a bar when Lau said, unprompted, “I don’t do casual.”

  “I don’t have to do casual,” I protested. “I can do serious dating.”

  “Mm-hmm,” she said, with pursed lips and raised eyebrows. She’d heard all my dating stories from Evan and was rightfully skeptical.

  In our two months as “friends” it became clear this was more than simple attraction or a short-lived crush. There was a chance of something special between us, which meant it was time to have another discussion with Evan. Not so I could ask “permission” (we’re not medieval lords or frat brothers), but to make sure it wouldn’t affect our friendship.

  “So, how long has it been since you and Lau broke up?” I asked.

  We were again watching basketball at my house.

  “Nine years.”

  I hadn’t known it had been THAT LONG. When Evan and Lau broke up, YouTube, Twitter, the iPhone, and Facebook didn’t yet exist. Basically, they’d broken up before time began.

  “Nine years is a pretty long time, right?” I said.

  “I was never nervous about you dating Lau because she’s my ex. I don’t think of her that way anymore,” Evan explained. “I was nervous because I’ve watched you date girl after girl and I didn’t want you to add Lau to the list.”

  “So you just didn’t want to see a good friend get hurt?”

  “Well, mostly I was thinking about how awkward it would be for me if it didn’t work out. But yeah, that too.”

  Evan was being self-effacing, but his effort to protect his friends and friendships was touching. I’d worried he would be a jealous ex, but it was clear now he was more like a protective big brother.

  “I really like Lau,” I said, “and I want to give it a serious go. Would you be okay with that?”

  “As long as you can promise to never break up, yeah, I’m totally fine with it.”

  “I’ll do my best.”

  “In all seriousness,” Evan said, “I’m okay with it. I know I’ve been weird about this whole thing, but I do think you guys would be good together. And I think you’re ready for a relationship again.”

  I’d wanted his blessing concerning Lau, but his statement about my being ready in general meant just as much.

  * * *

  A group of us were going camping on Memorial Day weekend. Lau and I agreed it would be best if we spent time alone together before going out into the woods to drink a lot of whiskey, but the only night that worked was Friday, the night before we were to leave. Which led to this text message from Lau:

  So, I think we need to make it a sleepover date. I would normally NEVER do that on a first date, but we’re meeting at your house early on Saturday for camping, and I live far away, so it makes the most sense. But don’t feel pressured to have sex.

  After countless dates, I thought I’d gotten over being nervous, but I could barely eat that day. Knowing it was a sure thing—Lau was sleeping over, after all—didn’t allay my anxiety, for this was no longer about succeeding or failing, getting laid or not. It was about finally testing a connection I desperately wanted to be real.

  Lau’s arrival wasn’t romantic. Having survived ninety minutes of rush-hour traffic, she pushed by me for the bathroom, shedding two large bags full of camping gear as she went. I sat on the couch drying my sweaty palms on my pant legs. When she emerged, I stood up.

  “Where are we going to dinner?” she asked.

  I took a couple steps toward Lau and caught a whiff of her perfume, sweet and floral.

  “Mexican sound good?”

  Another step closer. Those big eyes, that wide smile.

  “Love Mexican.�
��

  I was standing right in front of her now.

  “Good. There’s a great little place near here.”

  I pulled Lau toward me and kissed her.

  CUT TO:

  INT. LIVING ROOM—NIGHT

  As Matteson and Lau kiss, we ZOOM IN on the microscopic space between their lips where we see:

  A SPARK.

  It’s tiny, imperceptive to the naked eye, only visible on a nuclear level.

  The camera PULLS BACK quickly, away from the couple, out the window, up into the sky, and finally off the planet.

  We see our solar system, but something strange is happening: the Earth isn’t orbiting the sun any longer. Instead the sun is orbiting Earth, as are the other planets. In the background the stars of the Milky Way obediently circle as well. Matteson and Laura are at the center of it all for a split second.

  Snap back into motion, ZOOMING in at an incredible pace, through the solar system, down to Earth, and back inside the apartment just in time to see the kiss end.

  The two pull apart, smile at each other, and then exit the apartment, off to do what one should always do after a galactic superevent—eat tacos.

  END SCENE

  (Or at least that’s kind of what it felt like.)

  * * *

  After a whole book of telling you way (WAY) too much about my sex life, I won’t tell you much about what happened with Lau that night. I want to keep those details to myself. I will say that despite her text message, she did pressure me into having sex (I forgave her) and it was better than any of the other sex I’d had.

  The next morning we went camping with our friends and spent the weekend hiking, swimming, cooking out, roasting marshmallows, and drinking around a fire. Lau and I shared a tent and cuddled together under one sleeping bag. Both Evan and Kurt were there, but it wasn’t awkward at all. Evan did leave a day early, but that had nothing to do with Lau and me; he just didn’t want to poop outdoors.

  After avoiding commitment for so long, that weekend I told Lau I wanted to be exclusive, making us a couple before the end of what was technically still our first date. And I didn’t stop there—within two weeks I’d told her I loved her and this time there was no wondering if I meant it. I wasn’t falling in love or maybe in love or trying to be in love—this was full-on, head-over-heels, all-the-way, no-doubt love. And she felt the same way.

  My mental connection with Ella had seemed like an improvement over infatuation, but all head was just as flawed as all heart. You can’t persuade yourself to love someone, no matter how much you agree on which TV shows are good. With Lau, I finally had both parts of the equation. My attraction to her got the infatuation chemicals in my brain pumping, but our long history ensured there was a foundation of friendship beneath those feelings.

  And yes, she checked off everything on my precious List.

  • Shit together—She was a vice president at her company.

  • Low-maintenance—Going to a place with no toilets for three days on your first date is a good way to verify this.

  • Like AND love—Had to like her before I loved her.

  • Had long-term important friendships/relationships—Duh, Evan. She was almost TOO good at this one.

  • Truly respect my partner—She was one of the most impressive and smart people I knew.

  After months of calculating every move and intellectualizing my emotions, everything with Lau was easy and natural. There was no Plotting Points, no worrying about what anything meant, no nervousness about having The Talk, no playing it cool. I told Lau exactly how much I liked her and saw her as often as I could. I’d fallen in love before, but joining my life with someone else had never been this easy. One month into our relationship, a small issue did pop up, though—Lau was being kicked out of the country.

  A lawyer for Lau’s company had filed some Green Card sponsorship paperwork improperly and she’d been denied because of the technicality. Though she’d lived in the States for more than fifteen years and the clerical error was explainable, the government didn’t care. Lau reapplied under a different method, but there was a catch—she couldn’t stay in the country while her secondary application was under consideration. She had ninety days to leave.

  I’d gotten over my heartbreak, navigated the world of casual dating, saved myself from being the Sleazy Guy, started dating a friend’s ex-girlfriend with ambassador-level diplomacy, and fallen in love with a wonderful woman. I’d fucking pulled this thing off, but the universe was like, Come on, silly mortal, give me a break with these life plans of yours. You know who else had plans? The dinosaurs.

  Though we’d only dated a short time, Lau and I didn’t consider breaking up. Instead, I would make an extended visit to Spain while Lau waited for her paperwork to come through. I’d been looking for a good excuse to leave my job and this was it—I’d live in Barcelona for a few months, write, and get to know her family. Hopefully, during my time there she’d get her Green Card and we’d return together.

  I was excited about this plan—who wouldn’t want to live in Barcelona for three months?—but anxious. The Green Card process could take a few months or it could take years, and when dealing with the federal government it’s usually smart to bet on the “Over.” Another denial was possible too. Lau’s lawyer was confident in her case, but there was no guarantee.

  We enjoyed the summer, but Lau’s imminent departure loomed. Luckily, we had a big event coming up to distract us—we were going to Burning Man together a few weeks before she had to leave.

  * * *

  Burning Man can be difficult for some couples because of the intense partying and sexuality, but it was a wonderful week for us. One moment in particular showed me just how hard I’d fallen for Lau. We were back at our yurt after a night of exploring the Playa and I was feeling lucky to be sharing the experience with someone I loved.

  “I’m so glad you’re here with me,” I said.

  “Me too,” she said.

  “I love . . . WAAAAHHHH.”

  I couldn’t finish my thought because I began sobbing. Not a few tears, not a light cry, but all-out WAILING. My body shook and snot dripped down my face and my abdominal muscles began to hurt I was heaving so hard. I am not normally a crier—I’ve emerged from every Pixar movie with dry cheeks—but I could not stop.

  “What’s wrong?” Lau asked.

  I couldn’t respond, couldn’t do anything but cry. Lau pulled me close and comforted me until I finally stopped ten minutes later.

  “Sorry about that,” I said, wiping my eyes. “I don’t know what happened, I just wanted to tell you that I really love—WAAAAAAHHHH . . .”

  And I was crying again, just as hard as the first time. I’d told Lau I loved her hundreds of times before, but now I couldn’t get past the o in the L-word without a complete breakdown. I was feeling in totality what I was trying to say and it was short-circuiting my emotional system. (This may or may not have happened on Acid Monday.) Luckily, Lau was touched, rather than mortified.

  On the last day of the week, as I watched the fire burn up the Temple, a deep sadness hit me. The flames signaled not only the end of Burning Man, but also Lau’s departure. As I stared at the fire an idea popped into my head: I should marry Laura.

  Though I’d never been outright antimarriage, I was cynical about the institution, thanks to my parents’ divorce. In order to avoid my parents’ fate, I’d decided at a young age I wouldn’t get married until after thirty (check) and only after many years of dating and cohabitation with my intended wife. Before I got married, I wanted to have done a lot of research and seen all my options. Basically, I wanted to treat marriage like buying a printer on Amazon.

  But, only three months into my relationship, the idea of marrying Lau didn’t scare me or strike me as a dumb idea. It wasn’t just that I didn’t want her to leave in a few weeks; I didn’t want her to ever leave. I wanted Lau to be my wife. I realized I’d put off marriage not because I didn’t believe in it, but because I so badly w
anted to get it right. At the core of every cynic is a true believer.

  I contemplated dropping to my knee right there and asking, but I didn’t, because while getting married seemed like a good idea, A LOT of things seem like a good idea at Burning Man. A day earlier I’d thought a food truck for dogs called Puppy Ciao was a million-dollar idea. A year earlier I’d practically proposed to a man despite not being homosexual. Yes, marriage seemed like a good idea, but as a general rule, one shouldn’t make a major life decision in the same week they’ve dropped acid twice.

  * * *

  I should marry Laura.

  The thought was still echoing in my head the next day as we drove back to Los Angeles.

  I should marry Laura.

  It stayed with me into the next week, persisting long after I’d fully rested and rehydrated, beyond when any drugs could have possibly remained in my system.

  I should marry Laura.

  After two weeks I gave in to the thought. I was going to ask her to be my wife.

  She was leaving in six days, so there was no time for an elaborate proposal or even a ring. The night I decided, Lau came over to my apartment for dinner. I’d wanted to bring up marriage in some sort of romantic way, but halfway through cooking the meal I couldn’t bear to wait any longer, so I took the pot of rice I was stirring off the burner, dried my hands on a towel, and said, “What if we got married?”

  Lau didn’t scream Oh my God yes, leap to her feet, or start crying. She remained in her seat, her reaction tempered.

  “I mean, we’ve talked about that in the past a little bit,” she said, “but we didn’t want my immigration situation to drive the decision. Why are you thinking differently now?”

  “If your Green Card gets denied in six months, we’d get married then. Why not do it now and save us both the money and the heartache of being apart?”